The Things That Matter
by Mally O'Jack
Summary: During The Great Game, Sherlock didn't eat or sleep throughout, and it's beginning to show. Missing scene - takes place after the swimming pool incident in Scandal in Belgravia.


Whilst talking about Sherlock and John in the dvd commentary, Steven Moffat says something like _"These two men adore each other. But because they're blokes, they don't say it." _Also I noticed whilst watching _The Great Game_ that Sherlock doesn't actually appear to eat or sleep in the time he and John are solving the cases. So this story attempts to address both ideas.

This is set straight after the pool scene in _Scandal in Belgravia._ As ever, I would really love your feedback!

The Things That Matter

by Mally O'Jack

They are standing in the entrance to the leisure centre. It's twenty to one in the morning, and it's starting to drizzle. Sherlock seems lost in thought, which is fine by John. Now that the rush of adrenaline has subsided, he is tired, dog tired, and he wants nothing more than to go back to Baker Street and crawl into his nice cosy bed and go to sleep.

But no. They have to wait for the bomb squad to show up first.

Eventually they hear the sound of police cars approaching, and John shakes himself awake. He gives Sherlock a nudge, and they descend the steps to meet Lestrade, who is striding over with Donovan in tow.

"You both okay?" Lestrade says.

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine," John replies. "Bomb vest's next to the pool."

Lestrade motions to the bomb disposal unit and they rush past.

"So it was him, then?" Lestrade says. "Moriarty?"

"Yeah." John clears his throat awkwardly. "Seems I was the last pip."

"Told you you should have gone fishing," Donovan says.

John looks at her and feels oddly stung. "O-kay."

Lestrade ignores Donovan. "So they took you off the street? Same as the others?"

"Two men in masks, yeah. They pulled me into a car and brought me here."

"And Moriarty?"

"Didn't see him to begin with. He only started speaking into my earpiece when Sherlock arrived." John glances at Sherlock then. Sherlock is being unusually quiet for once.

"What, so you all had a nice little chat, and then he just left?" Lestrade shrugs, his hands in his pockets. "What was the point?" He is directing the question at the detective. "Sherlock?"

They all look at Sherlock, waiting for his answer, which will no doubt be delivered as a furious monologue at lightning-quick speed with a few well-timed insults directed at them in particular and the population in general.

But Sherlock doesn't respond.

"Freak? We're talking to you." Donavan snaps her fingers in front of him and Sherlock starts and looks up. But not at Donovan. At John. And it is then that John notices these things: that Sherlock is shaking, that his face has leached of all colour, that he appears to be sweating. That his bright eyes are swallowed up by black. All these observations flash through his mind in less than a second, and he grabs hold of his friend's shoulders - just as Sherlock's legs start to fold beneath him.

"Okay, there we go." He eases him down towards the ground. "Easy now. Whoops a daisy." He settles Sherlock on the last step and sits down next to him. "Put your head between your knees," he says, pushing Sherlock's head down. "Sally, see if you can find any chocolate. And a can of pop or something. Not water."

He looks up then. Donovan seems a little taken aback, as if she hadn't expected Sherlock Holmes to be capable of such a human act as fainting. "Right," she says and hurries off.

Lestrade just looks concerned. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's just gone a bit hypo." At Lestrade's bemused expression, he clarifies: "Hypoglycaemic."

"Ah."

"You didn't eat the risotto did you?" John says quietly in Sherlock's ear.

There is a shake of the dark head.

"Yep. Definitely hypo. He hasn't eaten since all this started."

"What – really? But that was four days ago."

"Had to keep focused," says a muffled voice. "Digestion - "

"Yes, all right, we know," John says. "Just - keep your head down."

"So," Lestrade says, in an evident attempt to preserve Sherlock's dignity by pretending nothing is wrong - "Moriarty just buggered off then? Didn't say where he was going?"

Sherlock raises his head to reply - "Ah ah," John says and firmly pushes it down again.

At that moment, Donovan comes back. "Two kit kats and a coke."

"Perfect," John smiles. "Cheers."

He cracks open the coke can and nudges Sherlock. "Here. Drink this." He places the can in Sherlock's hands.

"All right," Lestrade says, jabbing a finger at them, "I want statements from you both tomorrow."

"The memory stick," Sherlock says then, lifting his head slowly.

"Oh, right," says John. "Yeah. There's a memory stick floating in the pool that contains top secret missile defence plans. We sort of need it back."

Lestrade stares at him, then lets out a sigh."Course there is." He gestures Donovan with his head. "Come on."

Sherlock's hands are shaking and the coke spills. "Wait," John says, and pours some of the liquid out onto the steps. "Here."

Whilst Sherlock is drinking the coke, John unwraps a kit kat and breaks it in half. He starts eating one bar whilst holding the other one out for Sherlock. After all, Sherlock isn't the only one who's hungry. John's abduction interrupted his dinner plans with Sarah, and he hasn't had anything to eat since lunch.

Sarah. Whoops. Should probably send her a text.

Sherlock takes the offered chocolate, and they sit side by side on the steps, watching the bomb squad run around. John has to fight a sudden urge to laugh, and to conceal it he rips open the other kit kat and splits it with Sherlock again.

"Feeling a bit more human now are we?" John asks after a while.

"A bit."

"Can I have the rest of your coke?"

Sherlock hands him the can, and he downs it in one.

Now Sherlock is upright and more alert, John wonders if he should say something. In films, at a time like this, people always said something meaningful. Something to conclude it all. But John hasn't got the faintest idea. All he knows is that he's so bloody _tired_. And yet also so grateful to be alive, to be sat here next to Sherlock eating kit kats.

And then Sherlock says, "John," and his voice is deep, serious, and John thinks_ here we go._ Evidently Sherlock's going to be the one to say something dramatic, probably ominous, certainly cryptic, that will act as a nice, tidy epilogue to the day's events.

"John, I didn't get any beans."

John turns slowly. They look at each other for a moment, and then they both crack up. A couple of police officers shoot annoyed glances at them.

"Ssssh," says John, yet they both continue to giggle. "Seriously, we have to stop doing this. It's really inappropriate. They'll think there's something wrong with us."

"I'm the sociopath," Sherlock says, and John can _hear_ the smile in his voice, "you have no excuse."

"They seem to have it under control," Lestrade says, coming back then. "No sign of Moriarty or his men. Found this though." He tosses the memory stick to John. "Do you lads want a lift back to Baker Street? "

John smiles. "Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Sherlock stands in the hallway looking up at the stairs to their flat. The stairway of a thousand stairs.

"Any time today, Sherlock," John says behind him.

He somehow manages to drag himself up the staircase. He can feel the pressure of John's hand at the small of his back, gently encouraging him. He reaches the landing and starts towards his bedroom. "Get some sleep, John," he says over his shoulder.

But this is John; the exact opposite of Moriarty. Moriarty boasted about being changeable; John is utterly dependable. Which is why Sherlock isn't even remotely surprised when John says, "Let's get you sorted first."

Sherlock flops down on the edge of the bed. Without asking, John kneels down and starts untying his shoelaces.

He stares at the top of John's head.

He may not know the finer points of the Solar System, or who the current prime minister is, or any of the other things people seemed to think were important.

But he knows this.

John shot the cabbie.

John was willing to die tonight so that he could go free.

And now John is helping him take off his shoes.

_These_ are the things that matter.

John looks up then, and Sherlock thinks that perhaps he should say something, like a normal person would. What would a normal person say in such a situation? But John simply smiles at him, and goes back to tugging off his shoes.

And Sherlock realises – and the thought is a liberating one - with John, he doesn't have to _say_ anything. _Do_ anything. He just has to _be_ Sherlock. And surely this, in the single most significant relationship he has ever had with another person, this is the thing that matters the most.

_Finis_


End file.
